


Carrot Top On Lock

by GlitchTheRoboticShadow



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Bipolar Disorder, Gallavich, M/M, post 5x12, tags added as they become relevant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-16 15:32:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5831029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitchTheRoboticShadow/pseuds/GlitchTheRoboticShadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He didn't care about Mickey," Ian thought to himself when he woke up to a fireman wrapped around him.<br/>"He didn't need Mickey," he whispered as he took his pills.<br/>"He didn't want Mickey," he persisted while on the way to his job.<br/>Ian had worked hard to convince himself of these things, to breakup up with Mickey, to pretend he didn't care. Ian had to move on because Mickey was in his past.</p>
<p>"Was" ended up being the definitive word in that spiel. Because Mickey Milkovich was out of jail and Ian Gallagher was not over him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fuck Off

Ian awoke to strong arms wrapped tightly around his torso, hands possessively clutching his bare skin. The clinginess of his boyfriend's embrace left him yearning to escape and go for a jog. A long one. Something to take his mind off the impending doom that was his future. 

It was just the previous evening that Ian had received the call from his rather irreverent brother, who acted as if the news wasn't much to bother about. But he supposed to anyone else it really wasn't. After all, Ian had broken up with Mickey years ago, -two years ago to be exact- and he was happily living with his current boyfriend, Caleb. Why would Ian give a single fuck that his past fuck-buddy was being released early from jail? Ian couldn't answer that, but the knot still twisted in his stomach, his last encounter with the man playing on repeat in the distressed redhead's mind.

The itch to move, to workout, was steadily growing, his limbs felt like they were buzzing with the need to expend energy, to get away from people, from  _Caleb._ Don't get him wrong, Ian loved his boyfriend, even if he couldn't say it without feeling like it was a blatant lie. It was true that he had lingering feelings for the newly free Milkovich, but despite the suddenly real possibility of rehashing their relationship, he couldn't go back. Not after all the things he said, the false-truths he'd weaved, not after everything he'd done. He didn't deserve to see Mickey again.

Knowing that the older boy was just a jog away left Ian with the constant, unwavering urge to just drop by, say hey to an old fling. The only problem was that Mickey wasn't an  _old fling,_ he was a past love that he still harbored an unhealthy amount of feelings for. Not a day went by that Ian didn't think of Mickey. He tried to pass it off as something normal. Mickey was his first real relationship, why shouldn't he think about it sometimes? Everyone was guilty of looking back at their youthful escapades, Ian wasn't in the wrong.

He was pulled from his reverie by the stirring of Caleb as he sleepily released his old on Ian, his hands immediately rubbing at his eyes before a smile spread over his mouth as he looked up at the half-naked Gallagher in his wake. "Good morning."

"It's half-past noon." Ian stated, the shortness apparent in his voice. He didn't mean to be so grumpy, but he was too wound up to deal with anyone's cheeriness, it was like he was a marionette with the strings knotted.

Caleb groaned and pushed himself upright, the blanket previously wrapped around his chest fell onto his lap, revealing his absurdly toned midriff. Ian may not have _loved_ the guy, but damn did he like his body. Ian didn't care if it was shallow that he only needed washboard abs to form a relationship, he could find emotional support elsewhere. "Ugh, sorry, didn't mean to trap you."

"It's fine." Ian said, hastily moving from his position on the bed, throwing on a shirt and a pair of shorts, more than ready to start his routine jog.

"It doesn't seem fine. You've been acting weird since last night, have you been taking your meds?" Caleb questioned, concern etched on his features as he scooted to the edge of the mattress. 

Ian rolled his eyes. Caleb meant well, but whenever Ian felt anything besides overt happiness, he asked him if he was still popping his pills. The answer was yes, of course he was taking his prescription, but the automatic assumption that his feelings were just the symptom of his illness left Ian irritable. "I've told you."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," Caleb sighed, reaching out and taking Ian's hand, "I just worry."

"I need to go for a jog." Ian ignored. He'd heard the spiel before, like he was a toddler that needed gentle care so that he wouldn't throw a tantrum.

"Okay." Caleb deflated, his head hanging. Ian moved to leave but Caleb pulled him back, "Listen, I know you're angry but-"

"I'm not angry!" Ian insisted, but his tone suggested otherwise. He wasn't mad, though. Annoyed, yes. Frustrated, yes. Emotionally constipated, also yes. But none of it was actually Caleb's fault, it all stemmed from the lie he'd tried to convince himself of. It wasn't fair that Caleb happened to be on the receiving end of Ian's rapid mood swings, but sometimes life just gave you the ass-end of things.

"You sound pretty damn angry, Ian." Annoyance was now simmering at the edge of the fireman's voice, his jaw set tight as he stared sternly at Ian.

"I just," Ian pulled away from Caleb's hold, rubbing both hands over his face in exasperation, "I'm really stressed right now, I've got some shit to deal with, okay? Just please let me go clear my head, I'm feeling kinda cramped."

Caleb stood up, easily slinging his arms around Ian's waist, "Okay, go get some fresh air," he leaned in and lightly bit at Ian's neck, "but you have to makeup for abandoning me when you get back."

The abrupt change of mood and subject didn't go unnoticed by Ian, but he happily welcomed it, languidly kissing his partner before sending him a quick wink as he went out the door. 

* * *

Ian started on his usual route, earbuds in place as he listened to music at the highest volume level he could handle, his hood over his head as he weaved through the streets. He loved the feeling of sweat building at the nape of his neck, adrenaline pumping through him, his lungs heaving for air as he forced himself to his limits. He wasn't close to that feeling yet, but he had every intention of getting there. 

Everything was piling up, the idea of seeing Mickey again kept popping up, filling him with a joy that was certainly lacking in his current point in life, but he doubted that the reunion he'd concocted in his head would be anything close to what would actually happen. He'd be lucky if he could see out of either eye after confronting the Milkovich.

However, the possibility of physical injury and mental trauma wasn't enough to keep Ian away, as he found himself skipping up the steps of the Milkovich house, quickly pulling the earbuds out as he tried to catch his breath before knocking. It wasn't an accident that Ian's regular route happened to overlap with the old house, he passed it practically everyday, reminiscing about before he'd been a complete idiot and blown everything out of proportion, practically ruining his life.

He waited for a moment, hand hovering over the wooden door, hesitance wafting through him as the prospect of a harsh rejection flashed to the forefront of his mind. What would he do? He didn't think he could stand to watch the guy he'd been pining over for the past four years of his life, tell him to fuck off. It could very well break him. Maybe it was better to leave things alone, pretend he didn't care. Leave himself with the underlying hope that Mickey still liked him, even if he didn't get to be with him. At least he wouldn't have to face the truth that Mickey hated his guts.

Despite all the protests his mind was supplying, he found himself knocking anyway. His hand slowly moved back to his side. He suddenly felt very awkward in his skin, which was an odd sensation for the redhead. The one thing he prided himself on was his body. He'd just gone for a jog, he was sweaty, probably stank, who knew how fucked up his hair was or what he looked like at all, he hadn't even glanced in the mirror before bolting from the apartment. Oh god, he hadn't even brushed his teeth, had he?

The distress washing over Ian was halted when the door swung open, but instead of revealing the short, black haired man he expected, it was Mickey's brother, Iggy. He stood tall in the doorway, cigarette hanging precariously from his lips as he looked Ian up and down, his shoulders rolling back as he sized him up. Ian straightened at the clear hostility emanating from the guy. The usual look of stupor that resided on the boy's face was replaced by one of determination. "The fuck you doin' here, Gallagher?"

"Came to see Mickey." Ian tried to sound as big as possible, not letting the reluctance show in his demeanor.

Iggy snorted at that, blowing smoke directly into Ian's face, a smirk breaking the Milkoovich's expression, "Why the fuck do you think he wants to see you?"

Ian grunted, pulling off his hood and holding his glare on Iggy, "Just let me talk to him." Ian moved to enter the house, but Iggy moved with him, blocking his path.

"Didn't you hear me? He doesn't want to fucking see you."

Ian peeked over the man's shoulders, spotting the person he wanted to see so badly. Mickey sat on the couch, his legs stretched onto the coffee table, flicking through channels. He was just as Ian remembered him, same black hair and blue eyes, same natural expression of _don't fuck with me_ and same knuckle tattoos that Ian got a look at when Mickey did his familiar tick of swiping his thumb over his bottom lip. It was brief, but Ian saw it, Mickey glanced at him, his bright eyes quickly taking in Ian before moving back to the television.

"Come on, man. You gotta let met explain everything to him." Ian pleaded, his eyes darted to Mickey and back.

"You don't get to explain shit. Fuck off."

The door closed in Ian's face with a loud thud, leaving the crushing weight of what had just happened lingering over Ian's chest. Mickey had been right there, he'd seen him. Ian had no doubt that he heard everything exchanged, but yet he didn't come over, he barely even looked at Ian. Maybe he'd moved on. Maybe  _he_ didn't care anymore.

But that didn't matter. Ian needed to at least try, he needed to explain things, he  _needed Mickey back._ And he'd be damned if some protective brother was going to stand in his way.

 


	2. To Lose a Best Friend

 

Ian hadn't gone back to the Milkovich house since his harsh rejection. That didn't stop him from thinking about it nonstop, though. He may or may not have stayed up the past two nights, over-analyzing every little detail of his altercation with Iggy and the fleeting glance from Mickey. The look had to mean something, right? If Mickey truly didn't care about Ian, then he would have talked to him, or not -for the most part- ignore him. But what if it wasn't that Mickey didn't care, it was that Mickey _hated_ him? Ian didn't know which felt worse, someone you love being completely over you, or having them detest everything about you. They were both pretty mortifying.

Ian had never particularly cared about what Iggy thought of him, the guy wasn't really a big part of his life. But to have the man stand there and act like a wall between him and Mickey, like Ian was a threat to Mickey; that hurt more than he cared to admit. Ian wanted to plead that he would never intentionally harm Mickey, but that simply wasn't true, because he _had,_ and to Iggy, what was stopping Ian from doing it again? 

But despite Iggy's adamant protests, Mickey's pointed disregard, and Ian's efforts to control himself, fate still intervened. Or at least Ian liked to think it was fate that brought him and Mickey face-to-face in the grocery store, a look of hidden surprise etched on the Milkovich. Ian however was not as stealthy with his emotions, a grin bloomed over his face as soon as he recognized whose cart he'd almost crashed into. Besides, if fate hadn't sent Caleb away to go grab milk just moments before, what the fuck had? This was all too perfect to not have been planned by some higher power.

Mickey's thumb swiped his lower lip, his eyes quickly raking the redhead's body, it appeared to be a show of dominance, Mickey assessing the person in front of him. But Ian imagined that there was something a bit more suggestive behind the scrutinizing gaze.

"Mickey." Was all he managed to say, but a whole clusterfuck of enthusiasm squeezed its way into the two syllable word. Mickey didn't seem to notice. He grasped the cart's handle tightly and went to move around Ian, but there was no way in hell he was getting away that easily. Ian grabbed the end of his cart, quickly placing himself in front of it, blocking its path.

Mickey rolled his eyes, "Fuck off, Gallagher, I don't have time for this shit." His voice was flat, void of anything but a slight tone of exasperation.

"Mick, please, just listen to me." Ian pleaded, both hands now firmly holding the metal of the basket.

"Ain't nothing to listen to, now if you'd fuckin' move, I've got places to be."

"Like shit you've got places to be. Just let me explain."

"Ian, there some kind of problem?" Caleb walked over to him, his shoulders rolled back as he put the gallon of milk in their cart. He furrowed his brow at Mickey, moving next to Ian and placing a possessive arm around his waist. Ian almost flinched at the touch. Of course Caleb had to come back at the worst fucking time. He must have sprinted to the dairy section and back. Fate was an asshole.

Mickey took in the scene, realization dawning in his blue eyes. He straightened up, licking his lips and scoffing, "Nope, no problem here." 

Ian's grip softened as he watched Mickey yank the cart away and walk past them, not glancing back even once while Ian hopelessly saw him disappear behind the next aisle. Ian grunted, pulling away from Caleb's touch and taking the cart, marching in the opposite direction of the Milkovich.

"Ian, what are you doing? Who was that?" There was a hint of jealousy and anger simmering at the edge of Caleb's voice, which only irrationally annoyed Ian further. 

"Nobody, it doesn't fucking matter."

 

* * *

Ian felt like a complete jerk, for multiple reasons. If he didn't stop doing idiotic and impulsive things, he'd become a giant incapacitated ball of guilt. After everything he'd done to Mickey, the things he'd said, the way he'd treated him, he was basically doing the same exact thing to Caleb. What the hell was wrong with him? It was like he was stuck in Groundhog Day but with relationships. It was time he learned from his fucking mistakes. Besides, he couldn't stand one more minute of Caleb's condescending silence and angry glances.

"The guy at the store," Ian said, breaking the quiet and reeling in Caleb's attention. "that was Mickey Milkovich." Ian avoided Caleb's eyes, instead taking to fixedly put away the groceries.

"Wait," Caleb said, resting a hand on the counter, "you mean your jackass ex-boyfriend? The guy in jail for attempted murder?"

"Well, he's not in jail anymore. And he's not an as-" Ian sighed, putting the two boxes of cereal on top of the fridge, "nevermind."

"That dickhead, cornering you in the store like a stalker." Caleb's face distorted in anger, "What'd he want, anyway?"

Ian didn't know what skewed version of the encounter Caleb was remembering, because from any point of view it was clear Ian was the one doing the cornering, but it probably wasn't the best time to explain to his current and slightly possessive boyfriend that he'd been the one to harass his ex, not the other way around. "He didn't want anything."

"Ian," Caleb walked up behind him, wrapping his arms around Ian's torso and tucking his chin in the crook of his neck, "I'm not stupid, I saw that something was going on, just tell me."

Ian turned to face Caleb, looking him straight in the eyes, trying his best to fill them with sincerity, "Trust me, Mickey Milkovich wants absolutely nothing to do with me."

* * *

Ian was already settled into the couch, wrapped in a warm blanket and ready to watch shitty shows until three in the morning, when he heard a knock at the door. Everyone had terrible timing, all he wanted to do was sulk in self-pity until the world finally threw him back into his chaotic life, he didn't need interruptions in his marathon of fuck-ups.

He lifted himself from the sofa, combing a hand through his hair for good measure before swinging the door open, a scowl already in place. However, his irritation quickly subsided when Mandy stood outside his apartment, looking the same as ever, well, her hair was black again and she looked thinner than when she left, but other than that, she was still strikingly a Milkovich.

"Mandy, what are you doing here?" Ian breathed, shock taking over for a minute as he wondered if he'd accidentally taken the wrong meds.

"Leave him alone." She said, her arms folded across her chest, her jaw set. She stood defiantly in front of him. She was quite smaller than him, but it sure felt like she towered over him, her demeanor determined.

"What?" Ian asked, his confusion evident as he wracked his brain for a reason why Mandy Milkovich would come over to his place in the middle of the night, just to tell him to fuck off.

"Mickey, stop bothering him."

"Mands, I'm not bothering him, I'm just trying to explain why I did what I did." He was already on the defensive, ready to rebut any argument she had as to why he shouldn't talk to Mickey.

"It doesn't matter anymore. You hurt him, you completely and utterly fucked him over. He's finally moving on, he's out of jail, he's out of the closet, and he can't have you begging for him to take you back. You can't just do that. Do you know what the fuck it'll do to him if you pull another one of your stupid stunts?"

"I know, and I'm sorry, I was going through some shit. But I'm not going to hurt him, not this time. I love him, Mands." Ian looked down at her, every part of his being desperately asking her to understand. He needed just one person on his side, someone telling him that what he was doing wasn't insane.

"I know you do, and...and he loves you too. But that's why you've gotta back off. I like you Ian, you were my best friend, but Mickey's my brother and I'll do whatever it takes to keep him safe." She meant every word of it, Ian could tell. And that hit him like a brick wall, she'd come all the way back to the South Side and they didn't exchange a single hello, or a hug, she didn't join him to watch TV, or any other perfect reunion scenario he had imagined in the late hours of the night when he worried most about her.

Mandy turned on her heels and walked off, not a trace of remorse in her expression.

That's when Ian realized that he hadn't just lost Mickey two years ago to his stupidity, he'd lost his best friend.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really tired when I wrote this, so I hope it turned out all right. I wanted to say thank you to all the wonderful people that commented on the last chapter, you guys never fail to encourage me. Anyway, finally got chapter two out, hope you enjoyed! Leave me some feedback in the comments.
> 
> (I haven't been watching the show, nor do I plan to. So, just as a reminder, the Caleb in this story matches the appearance of the one in the show, but personality wise, I'm just making it up myself.)

**Author's Note:**

> And here we are, the first chapter! I'll be honest, I know practically nothing about Caleb except for that he's a fireman and I don't plan on learning anything about him. I'm just going to make my own version at this point. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the first chapter, leave me some feedback in the comments.


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